


When I Close My Eyes

by AnderSpice



Category: Malik - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, song: insomnia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 00:43:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18419300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnderSpice/pseuds/AnderSpice
Summary: It's been two years since Harry's spoken to him. Zayn funnels his feelings into a song for Harry but he winds up feeling the catharsis himself.





	When I Close My Eyes

NOTE: Hello everyone! I've been way too deep in my Zarry feelings these past few months and I sat down a few nights ago after listening to Insomnia on repeat and deciding it was about Harry Styles. Hope you enjoy.

Z [12:04 AM]: I can’t find peace anymore. You were it and the worst part is you know that.

Z [12:21 AM]: Tell me why you left, then. One sentence. One fucking word. 

Z [12:24 AM]: Did you even love me? Do you care? 

Z [2:45 AM]: It doesn't matter what you say, I just want to hear your voice.

Z [2:49 AM]: You know how hard this is for me.

Z [2:46 AM]: Please.

“Zayn? We’re ready.”

The music starts to play and he tries to focus.

_I’ve been roaming and strolling,_

_All in these streets,_

_Burning, my eyes red, not slept for weeks.._

He stands at the recording booth, closing his eyes, feeling it all again, feeling Harry’s hands all over him, all lips, and fingers, and skin, and fluttering, pretty eyelashes. He wants to hate Harry, but he can’t. It’s his fault. He knows. He wants it all to be over, and he wonders if it ever would be.

_Tested with torment,_

_My future is bleak,_

_lost in the moment… with no words to speak._

Zayn’s eyes open, the microphone in front of him but he sees Harry standing there then, smiling a soft, dimpled, knowing smile, green locking easily with red-rimmed hazel brown like the key to the only lock that ever mattered.

_I can’t find no peace…_

He shuts his eyes, Harry’s gaze boring a whole through his now as the music starts to swell. He reaches out, his hand phases through Harry, the air there slightly warmer almost before Zayn realizes he’s just breathing heavily in between each word. The illusion of Harry pulses with each loud pump of his heart in his ears until it’s gone. His voice rises, anger coloring his tone now, hand falling back to his side.

_Am I fool? Waiting for you?_ He demands the empty space to respond.  fighting the tightening of his throat.

_What if you never come back?_ Zayn pause is natural, feeling that clawing at his chest manifest in genuine fear at the question. _What if you never come back…_

Harry’s there again. Standing there, back to him, fists clenched at his side in a way Zayn had never seen before—Harry didn’t get angry. Harry didn’t get much of anything at all.

_There’s nothing new, I made another hit, I made another tune.._ He’s sneering now, stepping closer to the mic, closer to Harry, words dripping the casual dismissal he was almost infamous for at this point. He didn’t care about the sales or the money, he wanted it known that wasn’t what this was about. Harry flinches, phasing out, there and then gone and then there again, flashing smiles at Zayn, the ones that’d made him melt for years secretly in One Direction until they didn’t anymore. _What if we never know why hearts deceive us? The night calls to dreamers…_

Zayn’s jaw works, shivers crawling through his rail-thin form, a real lack of sleep starting to make his entire life feel like a dream. Maybe he is asleep. The music in the headphones settle, slowing again.

_My sleep was stolen.._

_I’m searching for thieves…_

Zayn smiles against the mic, cupping the air around it, eyes half-lidded, feeling lighthearted for just a moment because he knows who stole it. He’s staring at him.

_These memories in my head, so vivid to see…_

Harry’s directly in front of him now, inches away, looking at him unblinkingly as Zayn’s hand extends to cup the air around his cheek instead. He doesn’t flinch but Zayn does. He can feel the electricity up from his palm.

_I can’t find no peace…_

His hand moves to one of the headphones pressed to his ears and he tries to focus but his head rolls back on his shoulders and he shuts his eyes, words near slurring as he sings them to the sound-proofing etched ceiling, counting each little bump until his vision goes blurry.

_And when I close my eyes I feel it all again…_

_I can’t find no peace…_

When he looks back ahead of him, Harry’s looking away now, down at the floor in something that resembles shame but Zayn knows better.

_Am I a fool? Waiting for you?_ He shakes his head, half-expecting an answer this time, his own fist working closed and open again, over and over again until he can feel the imprint of blunt nails in his palm.

_What if you never come back? …What if you never come back?_ Zayn feels his face falls at that; it feels so real. His heart drips with fresh claw marks.

The feeling passes quickly in quiet indignation, he wouldn’t let Harry have this. He’s still looking away and Zayn just bares his teeth in a nasty smile, waving a dismissive hand beside the microphone. _There’s nothing new,_ he insists, almost disgusted. It didn’t matter. None of this did.  _I made another hit, I made another tune. What if we never know why hearts deceive us, the night calls to dreamers…_

He feels the warmth dripping down his cheeks, the music swelling quietly, enveloping every thought in his head until _Harry, Harry, Harry_ is the only thing he hears. He'd make a song just saying that if he could.

_Insomnia…._ His voice lightens and tightens, rising, meeting the intense note with ease and refusing to look at Harry now, squeezing his eyes shut until the tears stem away, too. He's aching and for once he lets himself feel it.  _And when I close my eyes, I feel it all again._ He feels the late nights tangled up with one another, he feels the sly glances shared on stage, he feels Harry's smile and fingers in his hair, pulling until Zayn's screaming from it, until they're screaming together from it. 

It’s a rush, the feeling. He avoided closing his eyes because he didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to feel Harry’s hand on his cheek like he knew it was. He didn’t need to open his eyes for that. He pressed his palm against his face as if he could make the feeling manifest again.

_Insomnia…._ He feels the word making his entire neck feel tight but he sings anyway, louder this time, falsetto coloring it naturally and making his head feel lighter but the rest of his body so, so heavy.

_And when I close my eyes, I feel it all aga-…_ Zayn’s voice cuts off like his throat's been shut with a vice. The word breaks against the pressure, note into something that sounds almost strangled, a noise even he doesn't recognize until he realizes the pain he's feeling isn't just in his throat, it's gone everywhere, like he's opened Pandora's box and all the disease and hopelessness and dread are spilling out to suffocate him in the booth. The music continues to play for a few moments but abruptly stops when the producer sitting behind tinted glass just to Zayn's left notices Zayn isn't there anymore. He's staring where Harry was but isn't now.  He never was.

“Good job, Z. Let’s take a break."


End file.
